Wednesday, December 29, 2010

.....unless the smoke alarm goes off: Yes, I set the smoke alarm off Christmas morning. I manage to do it somehow every year. I love to make the house smell all good in the morning, so I usually throw some cinnamon rolls into the oven before the kids wake up. As Ellen was retiring on Christmas Eve night, I asked her what she was looking forward to most about the next day. She replied, "I love to wake up to the smell of cinnamon rolls on Christmas morning." My responding thought: "Oh crap." I forgot. So I got up extra early to go through all my cookbooks to see if I had something delicious to bake with the ingredients on hand. I settled on a "Bisquick Banana Bread" and whipped it up really fast. Maybe it was too early for me to be baking (Eloise is not Cake Boss), the lack of sleep I've been getting, or lack of love for baking--but the bread turned out just how my breads, cakes, and cookies usually do--crispy on the outside and doughy in the middle. The recipe overflowed, causing the spillage to smolder and smoke, setting off the smoke alarm. Oh well, the kids had to get up sometime. So, they were a little traumatized at the thought of a possible fire in the house Christmas morning. But if you have read my previous blog about the LOST Complete Collection, then you know that they were expecting a blow torch. I got my presents, so that never had to happen. We opened presents that day to the smell of blackened bananas, but it was Christmas morning just the same.

........unless someone pukes: Christmas night at 9:00 pm, I realized that Sam wasn't just red faced because of all the rude things he said to everyone--he was cooking. And so spiked the fever, that caused the headache, that led to the upset stomach, that spewed the vomit--sort of like the Lady Who Swallowed a Fly. By the 28th we went from Urgent Care to the ER with a LaFuria record high fever of 105. It turned out to be a 9 hour day in germ filled waiting rooms for me. If I am lying in my hospital bed dying from a strange disease contracted from this occasion, please come and stop my husband from pulling the plug. LaFuria's tend to jump the gun a bit and you all know how slow we Overdorff's are. You all need your dose of Eloise and need to keep me around, even if you all haven't realized it yet. Trust me on this. Eloise can see into the future.

.......unless somebody cries: Good old Natalie. Every stinkin' year she asks Santa Claus to bring her "presents." On December 25th, he always comes through and she loves looking at her sizable pile of beautifully wrapped gifts--then doesn't like to open them. She likes the presents just as they are. She once carried around a wrapped birthday gift for three days before I couldn't stand it anymore and opened the package for her when she was sleeping. So she cried as she usually does. Gone are the days of gently desensitizing her, preparing her for Christmas with visual cues on the refrigerator, and no "social story" about how presents are things wrapped in paper and it is OK to rip them open. We all screamed, "Suck it up, Natalie!" and went about our business. If her teacher Mr. Fritts just read this he'll be calling Social Services on January 3rd.

.......unless something embarrassing happens at church: In years past, my children have been tough on Christmas church services. For this reason we seem to wind up in a different place for our Christmas worship service every year. Natalie does not like the crowds and gets ornery. Ellen is usually an angel, so God smiles on my family because of her. Keep up the good work, honey. Two years ago Sam stole the baby Jesus out of the church display at South Harborcreek United Methodist Church and ran with it like a football. Last year we went to Saint James with Karen's family, but Sam tore page 116 out of the hymnal. I mailed it to Jack with a note to give it back to Sister Colette, but I don't know if he ever did. (Catholic kids go to Hell for that Jack, so you better return it if you haven't yet). This year I decided to get nostalgic and asked Aunt Jeanne and Uncle Don if we could go to Saint Stephen's Lutheran Church with them. They kindly obliged, but little did they know what they were in for. When we sat down, Aunt Jeanne asked us if we got candles for Silent Night at the end of the service. I replied, "Are you sure about that? This is an old church and it looks pretty flammable. It could go up like a tinder box. There is no telling what we can do to the place." During the silent and reverent prayer, Sam pushed the button on his Buzz Light Year toy and Buzz announced, "To infinity and beyond!" Buzz was speaking out about his love for the Lord, so he is forgiven. Towards the end of the service, Sam had enough of the singing of every verse as Lutheran's usually do. He asked Aunt Jeanne and the rest of the congregation very loudly to "Please stop singing! I am trying to talk to my mom!"

.......unless I am worrying about the large tumor on my dog's neck: Last year I discovered the lump on Christmas Eve while petting Josie 'neath the Christmas tree. Not wanting to ruin anyone's Christmas, I kept the discovery of the lump quiet until the tax return came in March. I then announced to my husband the blessed news and said, "I love this dog like I gave birth to her myself. We are going to the vet tomorrow and I don't care how much it costs to save this dog's life." $80 and a needle biopsy the next day revealed that it is just a water tumor, and though it is unsightly, it was not life threatening. This Christmas Josie and I have been enjoying many snowy morning walks through the woods behind my house. As she trots in front of me, I've been watching that ever growing tumor jiggle. Tumor has grown just like the Grinch's heart did--three sizes that day. It is time for another vet trip and something tells me this time, the surgery required to remove it is going to be a chunk of change.

........unless I am reflecting on what a lucky girl I am to have all that I do: We had a beautiful Christmas and we still have several days left to celebrate and ring in the new year. Am I really lucky? No. I am blessed, and that, my friends, is the best thing you can ever be.

Saturday, December 25, 2010

I am a good writer, but sometimes I cannot find the right words to express the message I want to convey, so I borrow someone else's. This Christmas Day post is the song Welcome to Our World by Chris Rice. I am uncertain to whom to give credit for the lyrics, but they are in a simple word, beautiful. I hi-lighted in red and green my favorite lyrics from the song. When coupled with the moving images, they touch your heart in deep places where no one else but the Holy Spirit can reach.

Unto us a child was born over two thousand years ago. Welcome holy child. Eloise

Tears are falling, hearts are breaking
How we need to hear from GodYou've been promised, we've been waitingWelcome Holy Child

Hope that you don't mind our manger
How I wish we would have known
But long-awaited Holy Stranger
Make Yourself at home
Please make Yourself at home

Thursday, December 23, 2010

Charles Schultz has always been one of the writers I admire most. His creation of the Charlie Brown characters are one of the literary world's greatest masterpieces in my opinion. He had a writing style that I admire: simple, poignant, and humorous.

I make references to Linus a lot on this blog as I always compare him to Sam--because of the blanket only. Sam does not have the gentle nature of Linus. My friend Beth and my sister have always compared me to Lucy. They claim that I like to give out psychiatric advice, am bossy, and enjoy tormenting people like when Lucy pulls away the football from Charlie Brown every single time. Yes, I give out advice quite often, but I am asked for it and I don't charge 5 cents. Bossy? No way. Someone has to take the reigns of this family. I am the only one brave enough to step up to the plate. For that I should be commended, not condemned. And if Karen is dumb enough to fall for the football trick over and over again in life, than that is her problem. Live and learn, sister, live and learn.

The above post is my favorite part of Charlie Brown Christmas. Natalie refers to it in her flat, monotone voice as "Brown's Christmas." Can you just hear her? For those of you not familiar with chapter and verse, I'll be your guide. Dust off your Bible, one of the best books you'll ever read. You can find these words in Luke, Chapter 2, verses 8-14. See your yourself, and you will take the first step in becoming a changed person because of it.

The angels and Eloise wish you glad tidings of great joy this holiday season. Merry Christmas from the Lamp Post.

Thursday, December 16, 2010

The snapshot above is from last December 30th, my dad's 65th birthday breakfast at Bob Evans. When the eleven of us are brave enough to out in public together it is always an interesting experience. Natalie and Erik were happy because food was involved. Ellen and Jack were having fun daring each other to eat jelly packets "raw" and spoonfuls of coffee creamer mixed with syrup. Linus, I mean Sam, was fine doing the coloring page as long as he had his pink blanket wrapped around his shoulders, and sat between his two favorite people, Grandma and Grandpa. They didn't seem to think it was weird that the only thing he had for breakfast that morning was a plateful of ketchup.

I had to include Sam in this photo because he is omitted from the following poem. I know what you are all thinking---Eloise is holding quite a grudge over this potty training issue, but that is not the case. The poem below is one I wrote a decade ago, during the Christmas of 2000. Natalie was 2, Ellen was 2 months old, and the thought of having a son one day was the furthest thing from my mind. Natalie had just been diagnosed with Autism. Ellen had the most ridiculous case of thrush you ever did see and also had her days and nights mixed up. I was completely exhausted and running on caffeine and pure adrenaline. Sometimes it is then when I find my greatest creativity. It just occurred to me, that is probably why I did so well in college. Hindsight really is 20-20.

This version of Clement C. Moore's Night Before Christmas was one of my favorite things to write. I liked it so much that I used it for my Christmas card that year. You may have even received one and reading this will trigger your memory. I've held on to it all of these years hoping to use it again one day. Never did I think that I would do so in this manner. A decade ago I didn't even have a computer and "blogging" sounded like a college drinking game. It goes to show you how much can change in ten years. My family of four became a party of five. I cannot live without my home computer and I hardly have to go to the library because I have Mr. Google as my best friend. Can we all just pause a minute and imagine what is coming for us in the next decade?

Enjoy your retro Christmas poem. I hope you have as much fun reading it as I did writing it.
Merry Christmas, Eloise

'Twas the night before Christmas and all through our house,Not a person was sleeping, not even a mouse.

The pillows were stacked by our wood stove with care,In hopes that a night's rest would one day be here.

Natalie was jumping up and down on her bed,While Ellen was holding up her wobbly, little head.

With Louie in his sweatpants and Opie in my lap,We had just settled down for a short winter's nap.

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,We sprang to our feet to see what was the matter.

When what to our wondering eyes should appear,But a red, van-like sleigh and two we hold dear.

With a driver and passenger so lively and quick,We knew in a moment it was Helen and Dick.

More rapid than eagles from next door they came, And they whistled, and shouted, and called them by name.

Sunday, December 12, 2010

Some of you have been asking how the potty training has been going. I attached some pictures from last week to answer that question.

I could smell him in the kitchen from way into the living room. When I came upon the scene, I knew he did his business in his brand new Gap Christmas underwear because Linus was clutching his blankey. It's his security for nighttime, while he's at his Preschool, and for when he knows he's going to get it for whatever he's just done.

This picture shows his rear to the left. The photo to the right shows Sam's reaction when I asked him, "Sam, what is in the back of your pants?" His reply: "Nofing." I think he was more puzzled why I was standing there this time with the camera. I know, Freud would have a field day with this.

I don't know what Freud would say to it all, but I think we could both agree on this point: Horizontal stripes are not flattering. They give away every bump and lump.

Thursday, December 9, 2010

For the 25th blog post in December, I have no choice but to post a story in Jesus' honor. I've been listening to the above song constantly this season. It is sure to be one of your favorites, too.

As the writer of this blog, I wear many hats. I am one part comedienne, one part motivational speaker, one part big sister to the world, and one part disc jockey. If you recognize the name, Chris Tomlin, he is one of my favorite Christian Music artists. I posted his version of Amazing Grace on one of my earlier blogs. I was not familiar with the featured singer, Audrey Assad, until this year, and she is equally as enchanting.

I stumbled on this song from some digging I was doing on itunes, thanks to a post on facebook by my nephew Chris LaFuria. He called out to everyone, asking for their suggested favorite Christmas tunes. He, at the time of the post, was listening to The Crooners Christmas and highly recommended it. I was looking for song suggestions for him when I came across this one. This goes to show you that all one needs is a little motivation and you too, can stumble upon something new and great.

My husband, being the baby of his family by a decade more or less, came with nine nieces and nephews as part of his package deal sixteen years ago. Ben, the oldest is exactly 20 years to the day older than Ellen. I worked hard to make that happen for the family, by the way. I missed a wedding of a cousin on my side just to go into St. Vincent's Hospital to push her out at 11:10 pm. Jon, the youngest up from Natalie is sixteen. The rest range in age in between them. They are a source of constant fun, and they keep me up to date on the most current tunes. All of them love music and are frequent concert goers. Ben, Chris, and Dan all taught themselves how to play musical instruments, which as a teacher of gifted students, I recognize as quite a gift. Dan has a really quirky-cool record collection that I love to discuss with him. Chris constantly comments about music on facebook. When we are together as a group, often the guitars come out and impromptu sing-alongs erupt, making lasting memories for everyone.

Thanksgiving night after all the digestion is over with, they gather in our basement for our annual card game. There is lots of noise, typical of the LaFuria's, but mostly laughter. When I was upstairs giving Sam a bath, I could feel the shouts and the laughter reverberating up through the floor boards. Some of us even got to talk to Matt that day through the Skype camera, as he is serving in Iraq through the holidays this year.

Louie and his brother and two sisters are very close. It seems like the next generation will be following along the same path---staying in touch, singing, laughing, sometimes fighting, but always forgiving. This is what keeps a family a family. So Ben, Kim, Cora, Matt, Chris, Dan, Rosalee, Pat, and Jon--thanks for the inspiration. You all will serve as fine role models for your youngest round of cousins, Natalie, Ellen, and Sam. You remind us that families are not perfect, but they are sacred.

Since we are all part of God's family and really all brothers and sisters in our human nation, please listen carefully to the words to this song. It is true that God could have sent our savior in any manner as he has the power to do so. But instead of a mighty wave with the strength of a hurricane, God sent us a baby. One soft like a winter snow; quiet, soft, and slow, falling from the sky to the earth below. Take time to stop and remember this during the flurry of activities in the next few weeks. And if we do get the predicted winter storms here in Erie this weekend, step outside and look at the falling flakes from heaven and remember how Jesus came to us--soft and slow like the winter snow, and breathe in the air of the sacred night.

Monday, December 6, 2010

I have received a huge response to this blog, far greater than I had ever anticipated. There is always someone new coming up to me saying, "Hey, I read your blog and it was really funny!" It makes me feel good that people enjoy my stories. People seem to have two common questions, and I have been asked them so many times in the past few months that I will comment on them here.

The first comment is usually something regarding my writing style. They ask if I make drafts, edit, rewrite, etc. Truth is, I don't. I can't explain why. I just sit down and write. It's always been something I do easily. The ideas just flow out of my fingers effortlessly. I am a much better writer than I am a speaker, though. Sometimes I have a hard time fielding an off the cuff question, or think of the perfect comeback three days later. We all have our strengths, I guess. People call it a gift and that could be what it is. I am just glad that I can share my gift with others.

The second most commonly asked question I get is, "When do you find time to do this?" My response to you is this, "During my silent nights." It reminds me so much of my new favorite Christmas song by Amy Grant, posted above. It is called, I Need A Silent Night. I just found it this year. I am not sure how new it is, but I know that if you are a mom getting ready for Christmas, you need to listen to this.

I have been asked to categorize myself by being asked to determine if I am an early bird or a night owl. First of all, I don't like the thought of characterizing myself as a bird because birds are, well, flighty. I don't think "flighty" is a word that describes me best. In the event that I am forced into giving a response, I usually reply, "Both."

I come from a family of strange sleep habits. I think they began during the years we all lived crammed in the kitchen when my parents were renovating the first floor of the old, red farm house. Maybe I never slept soundly as a child with all the clatter of four people and a dog living in the kitchen. We all are early risers and like to get up with the sun. My mom gets up early just because she is nibby and doesn't want to miss anything. I think the years in the Coast Guard still stick with my dad. He'd get us all up with a bugle if he could, but thankfully he doesn't have one. I remember being a teenager and Karen and I would be asleep on a weekend morning. He'd call up the stairs, "Girls, are you going to sleep all day?" We'd roll over to look at the clock and see that it read 7:53 am.

We also can party with anyone into the wee hours of the night, and belly up to the bar with any college student. The difference between Overdorff's and college students is that Overdorff's don't sleep until 11:00 the next morning. This has given me the base skills to be an excellent parent. I can be up until 3:00 am with a vomiting child, catch a few z's before 6:00 am, and I am good to go.

How I do it? I am the Queen of the 10-minute Cat Nap. Plus, I like being thought of like a cat much more than I like being thought of as a flighty bird. Cat's are sleek, stealth, and beautiful. Plus, they eat birds for fun. When I say 10 minutes, I mean just that--10 and only 10 minutes. More than that causes you to fall into a deeper sleep and it leaves you to either wanting more, waking with that groggy feeling, and screwing you up for the night ahead. 10 minutes is enough to take the edge of fatigue away and leaves you feeling refreshed. During my dad's "Overtime Years", especially the last three that he worked at GE, I saw him tilted back with his eyes shut many a time. I would say to him, "Dad, you're sleeping--why don't you lie down?" He would reply, "I'm not sleeping. I'm just resting my eyes." This is a line I use in my house all the time.

So it is mostly in the wee hours of the night, after I put my kids to bed, when I work on my blogs. It relaxes me and gives me time to think through my day, as well as about all of you. I think of things that happened to me that were funny that day, or perhaps something that inspired me that I feel just may inspire you, too. It is in the silence of the nights that I find my words and find my God. He blesses my fingers and lets me use my gift to benefit others, even in this simple way.

Once last winter, I was going to bed very late, probably well past 2:00 am. I brushed my teeth and was about to turn off the bathroom light. My bathroom is on the east side of my house. I can look through the trees and see into my parent's bedroom and living room on the west side of their house. They don't like me saying this, and will hate it even more when they read this, but I always look across the yard to see if their lights are on or off and to make sure everything seems OK. The long standing joke is that if I ever look over and see flames shooting out of the windows, I am running across the yard and saving all of my Christmas presents hidden in my old, upstairs bedroom first. Then I will run downstairs and bodily throw them out of the house. Sorry. I have my priorities, especially in December. Nevertheless, as I looked across the yard, I saw my mother standing outside on the back porch step, looking up, twirling around.

It was a particularly beautiful night. The snow was falling gently and it landed softly like tiny little sparkles, one piling up on the other. She looked particularly beautiful and youthful that night as the flakes landed in her white-blonde hair. I could see her smile from across the yard.

The next morning I asked my mom what she was doing outside at 2:00 in the morning. She countered right back asking why I was up watching her. Sharp lady. Mom said, "I was smelling the snow. It was so clean and fresh." I thought that was a beautiful way to describe an even more beautiful night. I also realized that I am a chip off the old block, albeit an ice block on that night in particular.

So ladies, when you are listening to the song, play it a couple of times through. If you are about my age, I think many of the words will fill you with memories of Christmases past and make you think about how your mom handled Christmas compared to how we prepare for it today. When you feel tired, overworked, and under appreciated this holiday season, take my advice. Invest in a ten minute cat nap. Then stay up late and have a Silent Night. Watch the snow fall, count your blessings, and listen for God. Sometimes he speaks to you softly in the still of the night, like tiny little sparkles that land in the snow. You don't want to miss that.

Wednesday, December 1, 2010

These are pictures of the ceiling of the lamp post dining area. The ceiling was recreated to look like Jacob's cave for the LOST finale on May 23rd. My house has looked like this ever since. I have threatened arm breaking if anyone attempted to remove the names before destiny ran its course and brought each one down in it's own due time. The names written on the black papers are the island's candidates, and a number corresponds with each. They are also the numbers that Hurley won the lottery with, but he thinks they are cursed. The sum of the numbers is 108, which equates to the amount of time that had to pass between Desmond's button pushes down in the hatch. Huh? What the heck are candidates? Why are you talking about curses so close to Christmas? And who the hell is Desmond? All in the good name of LOST, I tell you. And I end this paragraph with my favorite saying, "If you haven't watched LOST yet, shame on you!" Intrigued? You should be.

Granted, this has aroused much curiosity from visitors to the lamp post. It also annoys my father and he asks every time he enters my house when they are coming down. Dad one day will learn to play my game. The more you ask and show the slightest bit of annoyance, the longer and more gleefully I do just the opposite. He should know how to play, because word has it, he was the one who invented the game.

For those who have heeded my recommendation to watch LOST, I am not about to spoil it for you by explaining the significance of the numbers. Keep watching and know that it will all come together in the end. Unfortunately the picture on the top right shows that I am no longer a candidate as my name is falling down. Fate dealt my card and it looks like I'll be around in this world for a little longer. My Mom's name was up there too, but destiny took her out of the running in August. My fellow LOST fan friends, the Hess's, also fell at the beginning of September. Number 23, Jack Shepard is still hanging on though. He is pictured here on the right. This is good, because Jack is my hero. I never got to have a big brother, but if I did get to pick one, it would be Jack. This blog post, #23, is in honor of him. I've been waiting to write it in his honor all of this time.

Since I am out of the running for candidacy, it is bad for the island because I believe I would be an excellent keeper. Having watched the entire series two times through, I know where to find water, where the caves are to hide in, the location of all the dharma stations, and which house is the best to live in at the Others Barracks. It is good for all of you though, because this means I will keep writing my blogs, which you all seem to be enjoying.

One of the famous LOST quotes is, "Jacob (the island's keeper) had a thing for numbers." I think I would have been the perfect replacement because I also come from a line of people who have a "thing" for numbers.

My mother counts things, namely people. Weird habit, I know, but she's done it all my life. If you see her head bobbing silently in a crowded room, please know that she has not gone insane---she's just counting heads. Often when we are together in a crowd she will sidle up to me and say, "Can you believe there are 55 people here?"

My dad is also good with numbers, years in particular--anything from models of cars ('57 Chevy), to the year of the Magna Carta (1215). He also is a whiz at estimation. He can figure how much something weighs, can estimate height and distance, as well as how many beers he has left until he needs a new case. It's a gift.

So it seems fitting that my apple wouldn't fall from their tree. I mean that in both the literal and figurative sense as I live next door to my parents. I too, like numbers and now heat up my coffee for 108 seconds in the microwave if I lose my cup somewhere, thanks to LOST. I also can't get off of the treadmill, no matter how bad my side stitch is, before 23 minutes are up as a tribute to my hero Jack. When it comes to the numbers relating to Christmas, here is my big number--TWO. This is how many Christmas presents I asked for this year.

Usually on Black Friday, I go out Christmas shopping on a solo trip, between 5:00 and 6:00 in the morning. I usually return home just as the kids are getting up and they "surprise me" every year by putting up the Christmas tree. It is a fun tradition in our house that gets everyone in the mood for my favorite holiday.

Eventually on Black Friday, the conversation rolls around to what I want for Christmas. I have a different answer every year. My responses range from "world peace" to "a cure for cancer." All things that cannot be purchased. I am a simple girl at heart, and don't need much to keep me happy. It's better to give than receive, so whatever I do get for Christmas, I am always happy with. My husband and kids do a great job choosing just the right scent of bubble bath, the perfect pair of slipper socks, or a new book to keep my mind occupied. But this year, I stopped all four of them dead in their tracks when I didn't give the answer "brotherly love" when asked what I wanted for Christmas this year.

The creators of LOST put together this cool collection of LOST DVDs and memorabilia and called it, LOST--The Complete Collection. It contains all six seasons of LOST, a replica of the island, the senet game, a black light for finding hidden clues on the box, a full episode guide, and bonus features. All for a reasonable $179.99 on Amazon. That is the price for the Blu-Ray collection. So, oh yeah, I need to mention that I need a Blu-ray player, too.

When I spouted off that response, I had to walk over to my husband and use my index finger to push his bottom jaw up to close his hanging-open mouth. We have been married for 16 years and he still is bewildered over the Overdorff style Christmas. Generally conservative spenders throughout the rest of the year, well except for Karen that is, we go all out for Christmas. $179.99 is a drop in the bucket for us. My Italian in-laws have the way bigger piles of delicious food on their plates, and we Germans have the way bigger pile of presents under the tree. Maybe we should try to work a deal and form some sort of alliance, but I guess that didn't work too well in World War II, so on second thought, who cares. I get the best of both worlds.

I thought I'd put a little extra pressure on Louie by getting in the kids' heads a bit. I told them that this year--no me with the camera waiting at the bottom of the staircase to grab a shot of their joyous faces Christmas morning. I am beating them to the tree this year. And if I don't find two wrapped gifts marked ELOISE, containing my Complete Collection and new Blu-ray player, I told them I was going to light the tree on fire. Dad has lots of gasoline out in the barn. One match and that tree is toast. We can roast chestnuts over that open fire. How nice.

Mean, I know, but I was trying to make a point really only to Ellen. She has the most leverage with Louie and is a pretty good gift-picker-outer herself. The comment went right over Sam's head, and Natalie heard, "fire" and ran to get her poker stick that she used at the Outback this summer. Ellen can make this happen for me, I just know it.

If the spaces between my blog posts grow a little longer after Christmas, know that I am busy on my third trip through LOST on Blu-ray, apparently the ultimate experience. If Santa brings you a boxed set of the series and you need a tutor, I heard there is this great teacher who lives at the lamp post. Her name is Eloise and I am sure she will help you through.